VII. (I don't much like to confess this last item, but I will.) A pair
of silk stockings.
And now, Daddy, never say I don't tell all!
It was a very low motive, if you must know it, that prompted the silk
stockings. Julia Pendleton comes into my room to do geometry, and she
sits cross-legged on the couch and wears silk stockings every night.
But just wait--as soon as she gets back from vacation I shall go in and
sit on her couch in my silk stockings. You see, Daddy, the miserable
creature that I am but at least I'm honest; and you knew already, from
my asylum record, that I wasn't perfect, didn't you?
To recapitulate (that's the way the English instructor begins every
other sentence), I am very much obliged for my seven presents. I'm
pretending to myself that they came in a box from my family in
California. The watch is from father, the rug from mother, the hot
water bottle from grandmother who is always worrying for fear I shall
catch cold in this climate--and the yellow paper from my little brother
Harry. My sister Isabel gave me the silk stockings, and Aunt Susan the
Matthew Arnold poems; Uncle Harry (little Harry is named after him)
gave me the dictionary. He wanted to send chocolates, but I insisted
on synonyms.
You don't object, do you, to playing the part of a composite family?
And now, shall I tell you about my vacation, or are you only interested
in my education as such? I hope you appreciate the delicate shade of
meaning in 'as such'. It is the latest addition to my vocabulary.
The girl from Texas is named Leonora Fenton. (Almost as funny as
Jerusha, isn't it?) I like her, but not so much as Sallie McBride; I
shall never like any one so much as Sallie--except you. I must always
like you the best of all, because you're my whole family rolled into
one. Leonora and I and two Sophomores have walked 'cross country every
pleasant day and explored the whole neighbourhood, dressed in short
skirts and knit jackets and caps, and carrying shiny sticks to whack
things with. Once we walked into town--four miles--and stopped at a
restaurant where the college girls go for dinner. Broiled lobster (35
cents), and for dessert, buckwheat cakes and maple syrup (15 cents).
Nourishing and cheap.
It was such a lark! Especially for me, because it was so awfully
different from the asylum--I feel like an escaped convict every time I
leave the campus. Before I thought, I started to tell the others what
an experience I was having. The cat was almost out of the bag when I
grabbed it by its tail and pulled it back. It's awfully hard for me
not to tell everything I know. I'm a very confiding soul by nature; if
I didn't have you to tell things to, I'd burst.
We had a molasses candy pull last Friday evening, given by the house
matron of Fergussen to the left-behinds in the other halls. There were
twenty-two of us altogether, Freshmen and Sophomores and juniors and
Seniors all united in amicable accord. The kitchen is huge, with
copper pots and kettles hanging in rows on the stone wall--the littlest
casserole among them about the size of a wash boiler. Four hundred
girls live in Fergussen. The chef, in a white cap and apron, fetched
out twenty-two other white caps and aprons--I can't imagine where he
got so many--and we all turned ourselves into cooks.
It was great fun, though I have seen better candy. When it was finally
finished, and ourselves and the kitchen and the door-knobs all
thoroughly sticky, we organized a procession and still in our caps and
aprons, each carrying a big fork or spoon or frying pan, we marched
through the empty corridors to the officers' parlour, where
half-a-dozen professors and instructors were passing a tranquil
evening. We serenaded them with college songs and offered
refreshments. They accepted politely but dubiously. We left them
sucking chunks of molasses candy, sticky and speechless.
So you see, Daddy, my education progresses!
Don't you really think that I ought to be an artist instead of an
author?
Vacation will be over in two days and I shall be glad to see the girls
again. My tower is just a trifle lonely; when nine people occupy a
house that was built for four hundred, they do rattle around a bit.
Eleven pages--poor Daddy, you must be tired! I meant this to be just a
short little thank-you note--but when I get started I seem to have a
ready pen.
Goodbye, and thank you for thinking of me--I should be perfectly happy
except for one little threatening cloud on the horizon. Examinations
come in February.
Yours with love,
Judy
PS. Maybe it isn't proper to send love? If it isn't, please excuse.
But I must love somebody and there's only you and Mrs. Lippett to
choose between, so you see--you'll HAVE to put up with it, Daddy dear,
because I can't love her.